


The Fifth Kiss

by WithoutBringingMeDreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, during 4x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:58:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithoutBringingMeDreams/pseuds/WithoutBringingMeDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet set during 4x08.</p><p>Mickey could count the number of times they’d kissed on one hand. And each and every time was a first—some brand new experience he’d never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fifth Kiss

God, it was fucking quiet up there. Well, not silent, because there were still a few idiots stumbling around. But the walls didn’t shake and the floor didn’t creak and the wind didn’t fucking howl as it hit warped siding.

The glass windows of the condo were impenetrable. They kept the whole world out, and in this strange, still-so-foreign bubble, Mickey had been someone else that night.

Not anyone great, really. More like a quiet witness to a side of life he’d never seen up close. The people were friendly enough. Less _gay_ than he might’ve expected. He hadn’t called anyone a fag and he hadn’t thrown any punches, verbal or otherwise. And he’d…attempted…conversation with a handful of them, if they’d been brave enough to start it up. One dude was ready to interview him for a fucking research paper—thank God Ian had rescued him from that—but the rest were mostly content to talk about themselves. Some were in _relationships._ Some had just broken up. Some were looking for love. Some just wanted to have a good time. 

Mickey just wanted to take Ian somewhere private. Not back home tonight, because the bubble, for all its strangeness, was intoxicating. A whole new existence  _he_ could never have, but Ian clearly liked it and Mickey could fucking pretend, if only for a moment.

Ian had been different there, too. Smiling and laughing and celebrating and drinking maybe a little too much. Draping his arm over Mickey’s shoulders, leaning more and more weight on him as the night wore on. Mickey’d flinched at the contact, for just a second, before he remembered they’d full-on made out in front of some of these people at the club. That ship had fucking sailed.

“Mm.” Ian squirmed forward, and the bars beneath the thin mattress of the pullout couch groaned with him. “Tired.”

He stretched out his hand and caught the corner of Mickey’s shirt, where he ran his fingers over the plaid pattern for a few seconds before attempting to pop open a button. He failed miserably. 

“You’re drunk, Gallagher.”

“And you’re not drunk enough,” Ian slurred back, splaying his hand out flat on Mickey’s stomach. “It was free alcohol, Mickey, you know that right? And the good shit.”

“Yeah, well someone has to keep an eye on your drunk ass.”

Someone really did, because there was plenty of coke and ecstasy around and Mickey was not going to have a fucking repeat of an unconscious Ian, lying prone on the icy ground.

Mickey shivered. It wasn’t cold in there—just the perfect temperature, actually.

“Cold?” Ian rubbed his arm briskly. “Want me to see if I can find a blanket?”

“I’m fine. ’Sides, I’m not sure you could even stand without my help. I was half-carrying you that last hour there.”

Ian grinned, his eyes still bright even though they were half-lidded and unfocused in the dim light. “You like it, though, don’t you.” 

“Like what?” Mickey pulled back and regretted it the minute Ian’s fingers slid away from his body.

“Me. On you.” 

Shit, the kid had his number. No fucking doubt about that.

A smart-ass remark was on the tip of his tongue. Really, that was always the case. But Mickey could tell from the droop of Ian’s chin that he was about to pass out, and there were only a few precious minutes of this night left.

He scooted closer until their noses touched. Until Ian’s warm breath became his inhales, and his became Ian’s. And they watched each other, barely blinking.

Mickey could count the number of times they’d kissed on one hand. And each and every time was a first—some brand new experience he’d never expected. The peck in that old van was barely more than a few seconds, not really all that hot, not really all that emotional (not that Mickey did emotions). It’d simply been used to say _don’t fuck other people, I can give you what you want._ The second, during the sleepover that had nearly ruined their lives, had been pure excitement and sexual energy; _I can do this and the world won’t come to an end._ But then of course the world _had_ ended, so the third kiss was desperate and painful and Mickey still couldn’t even place words to what he’d been trying to convey in that back room the afternoon of his wedding.

The fourth, from earlier that day, was freedom. A different plane of existence. _This is what I want_ , and if he was being completely honest with himself, one of the last barriers to _This is who I am._ Mickey-who-wanted-Ian, Mickey-who-got-turned-on-by-firm-muscles-and-dick, Mickey-who-was…

Gay.

The word popped into Mickey’s head and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to clear it from his sight. But it was written _inside_ of him, and all he could do was bury it, momentarily, under the flimsiest cover of _I’ll deal with that later._

Because now he wanted to be in the moment, with Ian, for number five. Ian licked his lips and closed the distance between them in a gentle kiss. They broke apart, breathed deeply, and kissed again. Slow. Sleepy. And fucking smiling like two idiot teenagers who were just discovering they _really_ liked each other.

And why not? They _were_ idiot teenagers. They deserved this moment, even if they’d done everything fucking backwards. This tiny taste of a childhood they’d barely lived—finding their first love.

So kiss number five made Mickey feel like a fucking school girl, ready to clasp Ian’s hands and stare into his eyes and make-out in slow motion. Part of that he could live with, part of that he wasn’t crazy about…but the damage was done.

Number five meant _I’m in love._

Ian’s lips were barely moving now, although he fought valiantly to keep his eyes open when they broke apart again.

“Go to sleep, Gallagher. You can kiss me in the morning.”

Ian yawned. “Promise?” He didn’t wait for a response, and instead rolled onto his back, stretching out his long legs and settling into the pillow. His lips parted slightly as he slept.

Mickey curled onto his side and placed his hand on Ian’s arm to stroke him softly, ready to watch him for as long as possible.

Yes, he promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this one meandered a bit. Started with the idea of them making out that night at the condo and got kinda introspective, lol.
> 
> Also, the '2nd kiss' is just my head-canon, assuming they probably made out at some point during the sleepover, possibly during sex, since Mickey broke the no-kiss rule in 3x05.


End file.
